


Checkmate

by RaeNonnyNonny



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Barclay read the room, Captain Ilsa Herbert of the good ship Strellacott, Cuddly donkey toys and other tokens of affection, F/M, I really want to go to the pub now, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeNonnyNonny/pseuds/RaeNonnyNonny
Summary: In response to the following prompt by DoomBar:I love a meddling Ilsa. I’d like to see a Valentine’s Day at the office full of surprises for Robin (I.e. flowers delivered, chocolates, etc). All of which she is led to believe are coming from Strike, but Ilsa orchestrated. Ending in a confession of feeling, a first kiss, or maybe more?!? You decide!Spoilers up to and including Troubled Blood, obvs...
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46
Collections: Cormoran Strike Valentine’s Day 2021 Prompt Meme Fun





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoomBar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoomBar/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [DoomBar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoomBar/pseuds/DoomBar) in the [Cormoran_Strike_Valentines_Day_2021_Prompt_Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cormoran_Strike_Valentines_Day_2021_Prompt_Meme) collection. 



The agency’s staff meeting was held at 1.30pm every Friday afternoon, and as such, Sam Barclay was climbing the stairs of the Denmark Street building, whistling a jaunty tune.

Upon reaching the second floor, he opened the door of the office, beginning to shake off his denim jacket and scarf to hang them both on the coatstand, and calling out a greeting, but the sight before him made him stop dead.

‘Wha tha fuck is gaun oan here?!’ he exclaimed at the receptionist and office manager, Pat, taking in the small pile of gifts and flowers stacked on the side of her desk.

Pat gave him a look over her glasses and then continued to type at an even pace.

‘Have a look at the calendar’ she suggested calmly to the flabbergasted Glaswegian detective, who was circling the tidy pile like it contained a particularly aggressive cat. 

Sam glanced at the wall calendar and noted that, according to the crosses below that month’s image of the Yorkshire Moors (a thoughtful and not at all pointed gift to the partners from Strike’s half-sister Lucy the previous Christmas), they were nearly half way through the year’s shortest month. Realisation dawned. 

‘Ah. Oh fuck. And this is for-?’

‘Robin, yes.’ confirmed Pat.

‘Any idea-’ 

‘Very much not my business’, Pat replied quickly and gave Barclay a stern look, indicating that she very much thought it wasn’t his either. In that moment she reminded him slightly of Owl from Winnie the Pooh. He swore to himself he would never tell her that.

Barely had she uttered these words when two sets of different footsteps were heard just outside the office door, and a young woman with flaxen hair opened it and entered, shaking her umbrella. Her gigantic partner followed behind and nodded at their employees.

‘Hiya Pat -’ On noticing the desk, Robin stopped dead.

‘Hello Robin. There’s been a few deliveries for you.’ Pat deadpanned.

‘A FEW?!’ exclaimed Barclay. ‘Aye you could say that.’ Strike glowered at him.

Pat grinned mirthlessly. ‘More keep arriving. About once an hour since 9am.’ 

Robin, pink in the face, shuffled through the assorted trinkets. There were a large bunch of red flowers (gerberas, she thought they were called - like huge coloured daisies), a small bunch of irises, a large box of Valentine’s themed chocolates (Salted caramel? She grimaced).

One long, suspiciously limb-shaped box was sticking out of the side. Robin recoiled automatically, earning strange looks from Barclay and Pat. Cormoran hurriedly took the box and slit it open. Lots of packaging material and bubble wrap fell out, and Strike pulled it all out to show her. A much smaller jewellery box was at the bottom. Robin took it from a puzzled Cormoran and opened it to reveal a necklace with a star sign symbol on a small rose gold pendant. Her star sign. His face darkened.

Robin stared up at Strike then snapped it shut, making everyone jump.

‘Um, well, er - I’ll just - er’ Robin, flustered and getting over the relief there was no severed body part in the vicinity.

Pat, amused but sympathy - took pity on Robin, who looked mortified. ‘I’ll just put them in one of the archive boxes for you, get them out the way.’ Robin smiled at her gratefully, and moved to the kitchenette. After encouraging Barclay to move through to the partners’ office, she hid behind her hair and set about making everyone’s tea for the meeting.

Cormoran, face still solemn, helped Pat clear the desk. As he had been scrutinising one of the address labels, he recognised a familiar handwriting. His mouth set in a firm line all of a sudden, he ducked out as if going to the loo. ‘I’ll just be 5 minutes’ he muttered to Pat, and disappeared upstairs.

In the privacy of his flat he rang Ilsa Herbert, and when her mobile predictably went to voicemail, called her office directly.

-

The unexpected shower of presents for the junior partner cast an uneasy feeling over the staff of the Strike and Ellacott agency as they moved back into work mode. Everyone realised not all was well but nobody wanted to ask Robin anything about it.

Andy shot a worried look at her while Michelle passed round some documents for everyone’s opinion, deliberately choosing the opposite direction from Robin. At first Barclay seemed to find the deliveries quite amusing, and with an eye twinkle he opened his mouth to make a joke about weekend plans, but seeing the fierce, defiant look in Robin’s eyes, shut it quickly. 

Robin, sensing their concern, found her annoyance rising, giving her a slightly pinched look. She tried to concentrate on everyone’s updates but the adrenaline hadn’t settled.

From below her lashes she watched for any signs of …well, anything from Strike, but as ever, his mood was difficult to discern. She asked herself what she was expecting - why she was monitoring him. Could it be in case... but no, it’s not his style, and even if… he definitely wouldn’t do this in the office… The donkey balloon had been delivered to her flat after all.

Cormoran was as brusque and business-like as ever, asking everyone for updates and outlining the priorities for the fortnight ahead. 

After the meeting wrapped up and they began their walk out to a client meeting, he gave her a quick appraisal as he lit his cigarette. She didn’t seem happy, but she also didn’t seem inclined to talk about it.

They strolled in a slightly uncomfortable, and, for them, unnatural silence to the tube station, Strike smoking tensely and Robin avoiding his gaze by looking very interested in passing shop windows. The ensuing tube journey was equally wordless but mercifully short. At a loss for anything to discuss, Strike tactfully kept himself busy checking the sports headlines for transfer news from the Emirates.

When they emerged from the stuffy carriage and ascended the long chrome escalator to street level, he could bear it no longer.

‘You alright?’ he muttered towards Robin’s ear as he stood behind her, two steps lower.

She nodded, smiled perfunctorily and shifted her anxious gaze to the passing advertising screens. Unhelpfully they were all for perfume, and for some reason this made her feel worse.

‘At least they weren’t Stargazer lilies’ Cormoran offered, his Cornish coming out strongly in the second part of the sentence. He was frowning down at the ticket barrier as he tapped his Oyster card out and moved through towards the exit. 

Robin stopped dead in front of the barrier and turned, causing an audible tut from the person behind her. ‘You remembered!’

Strike looked up, alarmed at her sudden reanimation. He put his hands gently on each shoulder and guided her off to the side. ‘Course I did. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not that I - er’. Good thing his foot was detachable, he mused, given how he keep stepping in things.

Robin was still staring at him, like she was trying to solve a puzzle, her blue eyes confused but not hostile. ‘So they weren’t from you?’

‘No, they weren’t.’ Strike said, slowly and very cautiously. He didn’t want her to think the wrong thing - that getting anything from him was ridiculous - but he didn’t want her to be misinformed either.

‘Oh.’ Said Robin. She almost sounded disappointed but Strike couldn’t trust his judgment on this - he was too invested. They continued up the short escalator and exited the station into the recently rainwashed streets, dodging a man handing out Evening Standards to anyone not quick enough to avoid it.

‘I think…’ Strike was reminded of a night months ago and the feeling of being a trapeze artist ‘it may have been Ilsa’s doing.’

‘Oh!’ Robin’s face changed rapidly as comprehension dawned, followed immediately by her mouth being set in a thin line Cormoran had come to recognise as her tell where anger was concerned. 

‘Yeah.’ He said, slightly apologetically, but managed not to actually say sorry, lest she think he was taking responsibility. They continued walking.

‘’M gonna kill her’, Robin muttered.

‘That makes two of us. I’ve already left her a voicemail declaring war.’

Robin nodded, brows still set hard, digesting her indignation but satisfied her partner had been swift and discreet in defending her - defending them. Both were sensitive to her meddling and strongly wished to avoid breaking the delicate spider’s web of tension they maintained, upon which they both relied to keep their working relationship intact.

Strike thought it best they didn't dwell on the fact they both knew - and had acknowledged once - that Ilsa was desperate for them to fall into each other’s arms. It wasn’t going to be any less awkward to discuss the second time, let alone bustling along the street on the way to meet a client.

However, not wanting to lose the opportunity to elicit information from Robin, Strike changed the subject slightly.

‘Is that... is that even the kind of gift you like?’ Strike asked gruffly, looking at his phone, texting the client, trying a little too hard to seem disinterested.

Robin shrugged, still partially lost in thought, but she answered. ‘It’s a bit much really isn’t it? And it’s not very personal. Matt always loved the big gestures, when it suited him, but I think that was more for show than anything.’ She thought of her first anniversary weekend away and how empty she had felt. 

Strike didn’t find this difficult to believe, but said nothing, merely grunting. He too had just recalled the name of a certain Oxfordshire manor house without pleasure. 

‘What about you? Have you ever done... I mean -’ (she realised suddenly she really didn’t want to hear about Charlotte) ‘what would be your Valentines go-to gift?’

‘Depends on the person I suppose.’ Strike responded, non-committedly.

Robin nodded. ‘I can’t see you doing the cuddly toy thing’ she began, thinking for some reason that mentioning bears might be a bit too suggestive in the context of Cormoran and romance.

His mouth quirked slightly, a fact that didn’t escape Robin’s beady eyes, still fixed on her partner while also navigating the zebra crossing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Her deep Northern ‘u’ only made him want to smile more, as it always did.

‘No, I’m not... It’s silly really.’ Robin continued to regard him curiously.

Cormoran sighed. ‘You remember when we went to Skegness. When we met Douthwaite?’ She nodded slowly. That had been a good day.

‘I.. there was a shop there. I nearly got you a stuffed donkey...’ He shook his head, chuckling slightly. He could still remember how happy he had felt then.

Robin crossed the road in silence, then turned to wait for Strike.

‘Why didn’t you?’ she asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, it...”

Strike, normally confident with any turn of phrase, found himself tongue-tied. He hadn’t meant to reveal this fact, possibly ever, and now, in a moment of weakness and wanting to distract her from gloomy thoughts of past lovers, he’d put himself in this position in spite of himself. There was no way out. This was emotional checkmate. Inwardly he once again cursed Ilsa and her cunning lawyerly mind.

‘I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t think ... it was just a silly little thought.’ Strike couldn’t look at her. He pushed open the pub door and scanned for their table they had reserved for meeting the client. He found it, and noted it was empty, and they were five minutes early. He gestured to her to choose her seat, and Robin slid into the booth seat opposite him. She was still waiting patiently for his response.

Strike fiddled with the menu, looking at his hands. It wasn’t how he wanted to say it.

‘It felt like something you’d do for a girlfriend. And that’s not what you were…we were there on business’ he finished lamely. The vinegar bottle had become suddenly fascinating. 

Robin took a deep breath. ‘I would have liked it’, she said, simply. 

There was a short pause where Strike’s gaze remained determinedly on the Pies section of the pub menu. He felt his cheeks heat up.

Robin held out her hand, and laid her fingers right next to his menu. Not touching, but so very close. Which, as occurred to them both, might describe their relationship in general.

Strike finally allowed himself to look up. At Robin’s hesitant but hopeful eyes on him. Warmth flooded his chest and brought back with it his normal boldness.

‘Yeah?’ he breathed.

Robin nodded, not daring to move and break the delicate spider web of connection they had begun to spin.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw their client push open the pub door and search the tables for the pair of detectives.

Strike smiled crookedly at Robin, the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly, and moved his little finger ever so slightly, so it gently bumped - almost stroked - the tip of hers.

‘Hold that thought, will you? Teacher’s Pet is here.’

Strike thought he’d always remember the way she looked in that moment, a pinch of pink on each cheek and spring sunshine in her expression as she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down her delight into a professional smile as the client reached them and held up a hand of greeting.


End file.
